


A Significant Gift

by Elphen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Can't think of more tags, Crowley POV, Fluff, Flustered Aziraphale (Good Omens), Flustered Crowley (Good Omens), Frottage, Gift Giving, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Rings, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Soft sex, Sweet Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sweet Crowley (Good Omens), Wedding Rings, very slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: Crowley has a small secret; he's actually been finding most of the items with wing motifs for Aziraphale over the years, even if he has led the angel to believe he's found them himself. In fact, it has become something of a way for the demon to express his feelings without letting the other know.But when he spots quite a striking item, after everything, when things are different, he find there's one thing he still wants to give to his angel, one thing that might change their relationship. But is Aziraphale amenable to that?





	A Significant Gift

**Author's Note:**

> ...I apparently write Good Omens stories on my phone at night when I can't sleep. Not the worst way to spend the hours.  
I apologise for both the title and the summary, I struggled finding a good way of describing it. Things might have gotten a bit mixed on the show and book again...3am on over a month of bad sleep does things to you.

It wasn’t as though he was unobservant. He did notice things. Especially when it came to Aziraphale, even if he wasn’t going to mention that out loud, and certainly not to the angel himself. That would just be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?

The angel had sort of adopted a motif over the years. They both had, really. Or maybe it was more of an affinity. He remembered first noticing when they’d bumped into each other in Rome that time.

What was it he’d been in Rome for? A temptation, obviously, but - oh, yes. Nero, wasn’t it? Well, that had been a downer, though going for...oysters with Aziraphale had certainly helped his mood tremendously. Brought him out of his funk, as it were.

Then again, the enjoyment Aziraphale got out of eating was a pleasure in itself, quite apart from the fact that spending time with him in general was a treat.

The thing he’d noticed was that apart from the ring on the little finger, which he’d had on since at least their meeting at the Ark being filled with animals, he’d donned something else with a wing motif; that rather conspicuous brooch on his toga. A toga candida, too, for opposition’s sake.

Granted, he himself had been wearing a snake brooch in the corresponding place but that was at least an animal. So, it was him, too, but it wasn’t as though he was wearing something with horns, was it? A looping snake was stylish, bless it.

That said, it had looked quite...right on Aziraphale, even though it ought to have looked gaudy and rather on the nose.

It certainly fit with the ring quite well. And it most definitely beat the ridiculous cape adorning his plate armour, mimicking his wings. For crying out loud, it’d had fur on it!

Between that and the next time Crowley had met him, which sadly had been a good hundred years or so later, the demon had made a decision. If Aziraphale was determined to slip in those little references, on the nose or not, to his true nature and not even have the good sense - even a sense of fashion would do - to pick something of quality and style, something that accentuated rather than distracted or detracted, there was only one solution. Crowley would have to pick it for him.

But he couldn’t just come right out and say it, though, could he? No, of course not. Aziraphale would have stopped doing it or been incredibly embarrassed about it and neither option was desirable. He might even get angry at the demon and that was even less desirable.

At first, he struggled a little. Should he just materialise it or should he have it made? Obviously, his own stuff was materialised, including the snake symbols that seemed to creep into his own attire more and more often as time went by and he spent time with his angel. But Aziraphale didn’t materialise his things, did he? If he suddenly had something that was, it would not only arouse his own suspicion, it would put him in more danger should any higher ups smell the sulphur, as it were.

Finding a thing that could become a part of an outfit wasn’t the difficult bit. If need be, it was easy enough to commission it from a craftsman, appealing to their vanity to ensure the quality, not to mention helping them along on the path to damnation. His angel should not have to wear anything but superb quality.

If asked, he couldn’t say exactly when he’d gone from, in his mind, calling Aziraphale ‘the angel’ to ‘my angel’. When the possessive pronoun had become the de facto way of describing Aziraphale. He knew it had never been ‘an angel’. The definite article had always been there.

Not that he minded the change, quite the opposite, but it meant that sometimes, he had to focus very hard to keep the possessive pronoun from spilling out when he addressed the other as ‘angel’. He meant it as much of an endearment as a statement of fact but took some comfort in the fact that Aziraphale only heard it as the latter.

The thought of Aziraphale hearing it as the former, too, and rejecting it...it wasn’t a thought to be thought and kept his tongue from slipping up.

Sometimes, though, sometimes the wish to say something burned hard inside him. To say what he found his body communicating and insinuating more and more often as the centuries rolled on. Just confess and let things run their course. Test it.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? It would be to destruction and that...he’d rather fall again than have to live immortality on his own. As in, without his angel.

So, he found other ways of letting off steam, as it were, and among them had been finding trinkets and other objects with the wing motif the angel seemed to favour.

No, the trick was to find a way that made it seem as though Aziraphale himself stumbled across it and was given it or nominally paid for it, where in reality he’d been carefully steered by the demon who had already paid the craftsman in question.

In more recent years, as in the last two centuries, when he’d owned the bookshop, it had been a bit easier, as there was also the option of just leaving a thing or two around the shop, such as the winged mug. Which admittedly wasn’t the greatest of quality and slightly gaudy but he couldn’t help himself when he’d seen it. It had been just right. And in any case, Aziraphale seemed to enjoy it. Them, really, because he’d bought two. So what if he enjoyed the occasional cup of tea or cocoa, too? And the wings made surprisingly good handles even if they didn’t look it.

There had been a few blunders over the years, of course, both in terms of what he had bought and what Aziraphale had gravitated towards but mostly, he’d gotten it right. Certainly right enough that the angel had worn the accessory until it wore out or no longer fitted with the new clothes he’d had to adopt, with growing reluctance as time passed. Which he had to admit had brought him quite a lot of joy to see.

The ornament on the fob chain in particular he was happy with, in no small part because it had lasted as long as it had.

He’d ‘given’ that to Aziraphale shortly before that whole debacle with the holy water and his subsequent sleep, so it had been something of a surprise to see it still there when he’d gone to rescue the angel from the Nazis.

It was still there now, seeming to have become as much of a fixture as the ring, even if it didn’t have the same metaphorical mileage.

Even so, Crowley had become so accustomed to and comfortable with finding things for his angel that it was almost automatic to keep an eye out for something that would fit the criteria.

At some point, he couldn’t say when, having or wearing something snake-related himself had become somewhat of a fixture, too. Not quite as much as the wings but he’d found ways to sneak it in. Oddly, it had almost become easier to find something with a snake motif than proper angel wings. Or maybe he’d just become picky in his old age, at least when it came to his angel.

He had considered finding things to mark some important dates or times for them but when he’d realised the risk of Aziraphale cottoning on - the angel might be soft and kind but that wasn’t the same thing as blind or stupid - he’d scrapped it.

The possibility that he might cotton on and the result wouldn’t be a rejection was there, of course, and it did strange but wonderful things to his heart when he dared to entertain the idea, usually only in the safety of his flat, in the dead of night. But however much it appealed, he dare not risk it. Teetering on an edge was better than plummeting down. He’d tried the latter and in consequence, had gotten extremely good at the former.

Anything to keep being at the side of his angel.

* * *

It took a burned down bookshop, a discorporation, a reunion and the astonishing events of the averted apocalypse for him to not only realise that he wanted more than that eternal limbo but far more importantly, that he was not alone in this. That his angel had balanced on a similar knife edge and was willing to risk it now. No more different sides. Just their side, together.

He’d had the irrational urge to go out and find something with wings just to celebrate but he still wasn’t sure he wanted to have that exposed - he didn’t think at this point that he could keep from just buying it and giving it outright to the angel, which might very likely clue him into the other instances where they’d ‘found’ something - as that would be embarrassing.

He had briefly wondered whether it would even be welcomed now, considering Aziraphale’s break with Heaven. His own break with Hell, he didn’t fret over. Well, not much, anyway, and never beyond what potential retaliation might look like.

But then he noticed that not only did the ornament stay on the fob chain - that could be argued to just have been forgotten as what it was - but the mugs and other things around the bookshop stayed, too, and was used. So, he reasoned that it would be safe to steer him towards something on a later date.

Besides, he had enough on his hands just basking in the knowledge that he was now free not just to look but to touch.

Which ended up being mostly grabbing Aziraphale’s hands, a hand on his hip and other such small gestures. Oh and soft, gentle kisses, sometimes on lips. And hugs. And cuddles. He’d found himself craving cuddles at night.

After all that waiting, he would have thought he’d be keen for more overt touches but honestly, the one time he had tried a lot of it at once, he had had to fight not to combust from it all. It had also felt a bit wrong, somehow. Slow was good. They had time, now, and he wanted to savour it.

That said, he might just browse stores and such a bit. Nothing wrong with building up a stash, was there?

* * *

One day while out for just a stroll with the angel, or more accurately a stroll after a delicious and, for Aziraphale, substantial, meal, their hands linked, Crowley spotted something that almost made him stop in his tracks. It was enough of a stop to alert the angel and he looked at the demon curiously.

“What is it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, peering at the window display that had made Crowley halt and which he was staring at, in an effort to see what it was the demon had spotted.

Said demon would dearly like him not to spot it.

He was also caught between the desire to walk past and pretend it had been nothing so he could return later and buy it without Aziraphale being any the wiser and the desire to run in and buy it immediately, lest it be gone before he could come back and buy it.

Technically speaking, he could just materialise it but as it was something for Aziraphale, the possibility no longer even crossed his mind. And neither he wasn’t sure he’d get the details right and he had to get them right because they were beautiful. More than that, it was perfect.

But the longer he hesitated, the greater the risk that Aziraphale would work it out.

He realised that he couldn’t get it now because either Aziraphale would come into the shop with him or he’d stay outside and see what it was that was removed from the window, spoiling it regardless.

“I...just thought I saw something but I didn’t. Never mind. Come on. There’s a new stall down on Portobello road whose books look promising.”

Aziraphale hesitated, frowning. But then he smiled, one that didn’t register to Crowley as just a tad too knowing until later, and let himself be led towards the market.

* * *

They did actually find one or two first editions Aziraphale been after for a while. Generally speaking, picking up anything from Portobello Road these days was unreasonably expensive, even when the quality wasn’t there to match.

With everybody thinking they knew the antique world just because they could recognise a Clarice Cliff or a Lalique and the dealers savvier as well, it was difficult to genuinely get a reasonable price, let alone a bargain. But books were still a bit more of an uncharted territory, if you avoided the obvious ones such as Casino Royale, ‘Pride & Prejudice’ first editions that boasted her name rather than by ‘the Author of Sense and Sensibility’ and the like. It was possible, if you looked in the right places for the right type of book, to find treasure.

And so Crowley felt reasonable sure that the little incident had been subsumed in the angel’s mind by the glee of not just locating the books but getting them at a very reasonable price. He certainly didn’t talk much, just kept smiling as they went home. Even Crowley’s driving didn’t get a comment.

* * *

Later that day, Aziraphale deeply absorbed in a book or some such, Crowley nipped back down to the shop, hoping desperately that it was still there.

It was. Still in the shop window, the workmanship of it incongruous with the shop in general and the other items on display.

He went in quickly, though once inside he managed to pull off the impression that he’d just sauntered in out of casual interest. The glasses certainly helped there as did, though Crowley would never admit it, the fact that the staff seemed to consist of a teenage boy with more nervous stutter than voice and a woman who screamed ‘motherly’ from every fibre of her being.

They were very helpful, even when he asked to have it in a proper box - they seemed to have mislaid the one it had come in, the poor boy managing his apology mostly through mimes - and found him the best they had.

It was made for a slightly less...voluminous item than the one he was buying but it still mostly fitted and in every other respect, it was perfect for it.

He found himself beaming through most of the transaction, only noticing when he stopped. That was a little way down the street, the box nestled in an inside jacket pocket - he could barely fit half his hands in his trouser pockets, he was never going to fit a small but square box and be able to walk well, never mind drive - when he realised the implications of what he’d just bought. Well, at least one of them.

A ring. He had actually bought a ring. For Aziraphale.

Not only that, though that was quite significant enough, really, seeing as the only other he ever had on was the one he’d worn almost since the beginning, it was quite a distinctive image. One that wasn’t wings.

Well, no, it was. He wasn’t sure it would have caught his eye at this point if it hadn’t been wings. The wings on their own wasn’t the significant point, though.

That went to the fact that the wings were attached to something; the body of the ring was a serpent rather than a mere circle, complete with curved tail and a rather detailed head, almost exquisitely so. The wings stretched upwards from a point suitably distant to the head, spread out with details of its feathers edged into the soft material. Which was gold, pale but warm, while the body of the snake was of beautiful platinum, with eyes picked out in amber.

In short, it looked as though someone had managed to perfectly intertwine the concept of the two of them. Which...well...

A voice in his mind pointed out that technically speaking, the image could be purely him. He was a snake, yes, but he was also a fallen angel, with wings to prove it. A winged serpent, as it were.

But no. It wasn’t him alone. It was the two of them, together. Irrevocably so, part of each other forever. Had he...well, yes, of course he meant that, believed that. Hoped that it would be forever. That wasn’t in question.

The question was...was he ready to admit that out loud through a thing such as that? Because the significance of giving a ring like that, so carefully picked and so perfectly appropriate, was...well, it was tantamount to asking for...

His heart was suddenly beating very fast and he was glad he’d reached the car so he could lean against it, as his legs felt a bit wobbly.

Would that be going too fast? Would it even be welcomed? Would the angel see it as...as a sin? Would he reject it and, by extension, Crowley? Perhaps not in so many words and he would be achingly kind about it, but still.

Crowley wished he could answer that question. He ought to, probably, given all that had gone before, but doubts and worries that have had so long to sink their claws in do not magically disappear completely once they are proven wrong. They needed only nourishment, and often not much, to grow again.

He could always turn around, of course, and return it. They wouldn’t be difficult to convince, should he need it.

His hands tightened at the mere thought and his throat constricted. No. No, he wouldn’t do that. The ring was staying with him.

But that meant he would have to find somewhere to store it. No, wait, he couldn’t. Sooner or later, and probably sooner, Aziraphale would putter about and find it. Which would be worse than if he gave it to him outright. Normally, it would be the other way around, of course, but for this - if the angel was going to receive it at all, Crowley would be the one to do it, bless it!

He also very much wanted to see the angel’s expression, as much as he was afraid of the reaction, too.

So, find a way to keep it with him at all times without being discovered. Easy.

\-----------------------------------------------

He made it back to the bookshop without any incident and was just planning on sauntering through to the back room and sprawl across a soft piece of furniture there until Aziraphale noticed and either joined him or hauled him up to an actual bed.

Neither needed sleep, but then again, neither did they need food, and so one partook in what the other enjoyed.

Sleepy cuddles with a soft, warm angel was rather addictive. Especially when he also gave you soft kisses on whatever part of you was within his reach.

He made it through the closed bookshop and to the sofa in said backroom and also sprawled across it. Aziraphale also did come to join him, in a sense, but as he sat down, manhandling Crowley slightly to get a spot, the demon noticed that something was slightly different.

“Nipped out for a quick temptation?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked at him, upside down from his position halfway between leaning the other and having his torso in his lap.

”Why would I want to do that for?”

“You are a demon.” It ought to have sounded accusatory but it came out sounding fond more than anything.

“So?” Honestly, what had that got to do with anything?

“Good point.” A pause. “Where did you go, then?”

It was asked innocently enough but Crowley suddenly found himself wishing he’d said he’d been out tempting someone. That would have gotten him a slightly disapproving look but at the same time, it would have been accepted easily. Now he had to come up with something plausible.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t lie about it - he was a demon, it was rather part and parcel - but...oh, he didn’t know.

“Went to terrorise some ducks.”

“Really.” It wasn’t a question. It came out far too flat but at the same time, with a very slight edge.

“Yup,” Crowley confirmed, popping the ‘p’. He snuggled a bit further into the side of the warm angel body he was settled against, the hand on his chest a lovely counterpoint. Oh, yes...

“Funny.”

“What is?” Crowley had to blink to shake the slight sleepiness off.

“You don’t feel smug or content.”

Crowley’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

“When you’ve managed to pull off one stunt or another, you always have an air of smugness and contentment about you and right now, it’s not there. At all.”

The demon grimaced a little at that. That was true enough, he did feel that way when he managed that sort of thing. And he most definitely didn’t feel that way now, which his angel had unfortunately picked up on.

He opened his mouth, ready to rattle off some sort of lie that would fall within something approximating plausible when lips touched his forehead. Gently, almost reverently, and if that didn’t always make his heart do a funny little dance, then... But it was rather a shift from one mood to another.

The hand that had been on his chest, just comfortably resting there, suddenly tensed into a ball then shot forward or, perhaps more accurately, downward.

It took him a split second to realise what Aziraphale must have spotted and thankfully only another split second to shoot his own hand up to intercept, gripping the plump hand tight.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale queried, and his voice was soft but mildly perplexed. Or was that really it? There was that slight edge again.

“Leave it, Aziraphale. Just...leave it.”

“Whatever is the matter? You can tell me.”

“I said to leave it.” The words came out as a hiss.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. My apologies.” The edge was still there but mixed in with it was quite the dose of hurt, which stabbed at the demon’s heart.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he’d meant to do. He sat up and turned to face the other.

Yes, the hurt was definitely there.

“I don’t - angel, it’s not - it’s got.” He’d been about to say it had nothing to do with him but that wouldn’t just be a lie, because again, demon, it would be one that would cause further hurt.

He was torn as he looked at the other, who was waiting for an explanation, his expression...odd.

Was he ready to admit to his angel what it really was? Would he be ready to admit to all of it? Could he somehow admit to this part without revealing the rest of it? How would the angel react? Would he even interpret it as something more?

The last question was easy enough to answer, really; Aziraphale was anything but stupid, however nice he was - nice in its modern meaning, that was - and in any case, Crowley’s reaction to it all might as well have been bent in neon. How did they do that, anyway? Freeze the gasses in trays like with ice cubes? Could you dye gasses?

Anyway, the rest of the questions still needed answering before he felt he could take action one way or the other. But at the same time, the longer he hesitated, the less he could play it off.

Perhaps that boat had already sailed. As he looked at his angel’s expression, that genuine concern and care, the love there that he had been pining for for six millennia and hadn’t realised had been there for so much of them, he realised it had not only sailed, he was glad to see it disappear over the horizon. Well, perhaps not exactly _glad_, per se, but...

He needed to give it to him. Whatever the outcome might be, he needed...no, he _wanted_ to. Which was actually much more important and significant a distinction to make.

He’d been, and still was, afraid, terribly so, but at the same time, he wanted desperately to show his angel. Not just the ring itself but that he’d actually been the one to find all those things through the years. Hoping that it would be understood and taken the right way.

Knowing that it would and being immensely scared of the prospect even as it filled him with indescribable warmth.

With fingers that were only slightly trembling, keeping his gaze firmly on the angel, who looked back at him with a pinch of hurt, a dash of confusion and a heaped tablespoon of hope and warm expectation, he managed to reach down into his inside jacket pocket, made bigger so as to fit but evidently not big enough that it wouldn’t be visible to certain bookshop keepers. There he found and fished out the box with two fingers, moving it instinctively so that his hand closed around it fully.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, his voice soft but hopeful this time.

“I...ehm, I wasn’t terrorising the ducks.”

The angel didn’t say anything. He likely already knew.

“I saw something earlier and - “ he faltered.

Where was that silver tongue of his now? The one he had carried out a million temptations with - well, perhaps only 828.488, but who was counting? Though honestly, where was it ever when it came to his angel? He pressed on, regardless. This was important.

“I found this.” He opened his hand and held it out to the angel. Aziraphale looked at it then looked back at him as though he wanted to make sure. Sure of what he wasn’t entirely clear, however.

“For you,” he clarified.

The angel reached out and took it, carefully. Did his hand tremble ever so slightly? Probably a trick of the light - he could see in the dark but light could still play tricks on him.

At the same time, though, Crowley felt both his nerves skyrocket and a sense of calm settle over him simultaneously.

He still found himself closing his eyes. Aziraphale opened the box slowly, carefully, and let out a small, soft gasp when the lid revealed what was inside.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart plummeted as he heard nothing more and felt no movement.

Then he felt a hand on his cheek caressing it for a moment before his sunglasses were gently removed. With one hand, as it turned out when he slowly opened his eyes to look at the angel.

In the other still sat the box, opened, presumably with the ring still inside though Crowley couldn’t be sure with the angle.

The sunglasses were put carefully down on the small table beside the sofa, but done without looking. Greenish eyes were focused firmly on yellow.

Neither of them broke the silence that sang louder and louder until its cacophony almost screamed in Crowley’s ears. Or maybe that was merely his heartbeat, going at an ever-increasing speed that would be alarming had he been a human rather than a demon. “

Angel?” he said finally, his nerve and voice both cracking despite his best efforts. “Say something.”

_Anything. Please!_  
Aziraphale blinked, as though he’d been shut down forcefully and was now attempting a hard reboot. He looked at the demon, then down at the box and then back up at Crowley.

“It is for me?” Aziraphale asked, sounding as though he couldn’t believe it even though he so wanted to.

“Who else would it be for, Shadwell?”

_Hiding behind snark, like that’s going to help any._

It was almost instinctual, though, and had helped...well, not actually _helped_, had it? Not when you got down to it. But it had gotten him through more than one encounter with the angel where he’d felt vulnerable.

“Anyway, it’s not as though it’s the first thing I’ve found,” he then mumbled, realising a little too late what he’d said.

An urge to backtrack immediately rose inside of him but he not only resisted it, he actively squashed it. He didn’t want to take it back, not now, even if he hadn’t been quite ready to admit it all in one go like that.

“First thing?” Aziraphale echoed. “What do you - oh.”

He went quiet then, his eyes gradually widening. Not in horror or shock or even surprise, as Crowley might have expected if he’d dared think about this much. Which he hadn’t.

No, they were widening in what appeared to be growing joy and delight.

“All of them?” the angel asked.

Crowley was tempted to reply ‘all of what?’ but resisted. There really was no point to denying it and if he’d get that reaction from his angel for it, he’d admit to all the items. Heaven, he’d admit to ones he had no idea about or had to materialise right then and there.

So instead, he nodded but clarified; “Almost all of them. Not the cuff links.”

That had been just a touch much for him. Honestly, _harp_ cuff links? That was downright gaudy, he felt - and it wasn’t even as though they played harps, for crying out loud! You wouldn’t catch him dead - figure of speech - wearing something with horns or pitchforks! Urgh.

“I did wonder.”

Did he? Then why for...for somebody’s sake hadn’t he said any -

No. No, he couldn’t really put that one on Aziraphale, could he? He was as much to blame for that one, wasn’t he? He had made an effort to conceal it, and a concerted effort at that.

And even so, it seemed as though he hadn’t done quite a good enough job of it, if Aziraphale had picked up on it enough to wonder.

But perhaps that was just as well because that lovely, wonderful expression only got lovelier, which didn’t seem possible.

“But my dear, that’s...such a very long time!”

“Couple of thousand years, give or take, yeah.” It seemed that tonight was the night for confessions he hadn’t quite meant to admit to out loud.

“Oh. So...oh.”

That was definitely a blush stealing quickly across the soft cheeks, no trick of the light could hide that. But there was still that expression, too, the one that was threatening Crowley’s heart something fierce.

“If that’s the case, then why didn’t you...no, that’s hardly fair, is it? But I should have bought you something, too.“ His always expressive hands gestured towards Crowley’s snake’s head belt.

The demon shook his head. “Only if you wanted to...” He trailed off, leaving the rest as implication.

The angel didn’t hesitate, as Crowley might have expected, had he thought about it. In fact, he reached out immediately with his free hand to grasp the demon’s hand. Not just grasp it but to pull it over to him, squeezing it gently.

“I did. Very much so, so many times. But, my dear, this isn’t...are you sure it’s for me?”

_I said, didn’t I?_ “It’s got wings, hasn’t it?”

“But it’s also a snake,” Aziraphale pointed out. “A winged snake is more you.”

“When do I ever wear something with wings?” Crowley scoffed. “It’s hardly my thing.”

He got the distinct feeling, though, that that wasn’t all there was to what the angel was saying. That...that maybe, just maybe, he’d actually picked up on not just some of the implications but all of them.

“No,” the angel agreed, “it’s not.” He paused and for a moment, the demon thought, no, feared he wouldn’t continue.

But he did.

“It is very much...us, though, isn’t it?” he said and bless if his expression didn’t just somehow...intensify.

“It is,” Crowley agreed, in his mind adding,_ That’s the whole point._  
“But then...something is missing, isn’t it?” Aziraphale went on.

“Missing? What do you mean, missing?” And there went his fear again.

“Well, do correct me if I am wrong but the general way of doing..._this_ involves two rings, doesn’t it?”

What? Oh. Oh! He really - and he didn’t even blink or hesitate or _anything_?!

_Right. Keep it cool, Crowley. Keep it cool. **Breathe**_.

“Depends, doesn’t it?”

“On what?”

“Engagement rings are normally only worn by one party. Nowadays, anyway.”

“Not really, and you are daft if you think I will have this as my betrothal ring - “

Crowley’s heart dropped so fast his head spun, which almost made him miss the next word.

“ - only.”

“What?” he croaked, trying to keep up.

“I don’t want to stop wearing it and you can’t really wear both your betrothal ring and your wedding ring.” The demon’s head was still spinning a little but for an entirely different reason.

“You still wear the one on your little finger,” he managed to say.

“Oh. Yes. That’s quite different, though.” The smile he’d donned turned a little bit brittle for a moment and Crowley decided not to pursue it further. He knew it would be...unwise.

“Yeah. But I...” Oh, screw trying to be cool and tiptoeing around just because that was what he always did. “Angel, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Aziraphale hesitated but only for a very brief moment, and the hesitation seemed more to do with plucking up courage than anything.

“I believe I am,” he then said, the blush returning. “To be honest, I have no idea how we would go about the practicalities but I suppose that’s just technicalities, when it comes down to it.”

Crowley stared. He could admit that he stared, to the point of nearly boggling. All of this...this...thisness, and suddenly it’s a discussion about the practical side of it all. As though it was easy.

He felt somehow cheated. Which was hardly fair and more importantly, didn’t make much sense.

What was important was that Aziraphale was apparently so okay with the idea that he actually jumped, once the hurdle of whether he meant it and meant the angel had been cleared, straight to how to do it. Which in itself was maybe quite significant.

However, what happened next swept that whole line of thought completely out of his mind for the moment.

If the demon had thought his eyes had been close to boggling before, they were practically falling out of his head now. Not literally; he’d only done that the once and the experience had made him very nauseous. To have vestibular disconnect or whatever it was called was significantly worse when your eyeballs were rolling around on the table.

The reason they were boggling was because Aziraphale, after carefully closing the box again, slid off the sofa, with far more grace than he normally exhibited.

More importantly, though, he slid so that he was on the ground, resting on one knee while the other was bent in a rather telltale way.

In a way that Crowley was sure did horrible things to his heart, which had been abused already.

He wouldn’t stop it for the world. Nor the end of it.

Aziraphale still held onto the demon’s hand, enfolding it gently in his own, plumper one.

“I do realise that it’s rather unorthodox for the one giving a ring to be asked,” Aziraphale said, “but I hope you’ll forgive me the breach of etiquette on this one occasion, dearest.”

“I...ah, eh, uhm, yeah. Course,” Crowley managed to get out, his eyes glued to the scenario in front of him. Aziraphale smiled. Somehow, he managed to open the lid of the box with the hand he was holding it in.

He’d turned it so it faced Crowley rather than himself, though, which the demon initially thought was a bit odd, as much as thought made it through his mind right then. After all, he already knew what was in it, didn’t he?

But when the angel opened it, it became clear why; there wasn’t one ring in there anymore. There were two, perfectly identical.

Except...not quite. The size and shape, yes, the direction of the snake’s head, and the rest of the rather exquisite details - his excellent eyesight again - but there was one difference that stood out.

They were mirrored; where the original had golden wings, as did the fob ornament and the little finger ring, so Crowley had known it would fit in even if it was a paler gold than the others, and a platinum body, the ‘copy’ had a gold body of the same hue as the wings of the original, and platinum wings that looked almost white. The eyes were warm jade rather than amber

They both now nestled quite comfortably yet snug enough to stay put in a box that ought to have been too small and wasn’t designed for two rings, much less ones with such...volume.

Aziraphale had made that. Of all things, he had miracled that into existence so they could have perfectly matching, if inverted, rings that encapsulated the both of them.

Crowley tried to speak, to say his angel’s name, at the very least, but nothing would come out when he opened his mouth. And suddenly his vision was slightly blurry. Who was messing with the light?

“My dear, will you...would you do me the honour?”

It took Crowley a moment to realise that he hadn’t actually finished the question. But then again, he didn’t need to, did he? They both perfectly understood what was meant, after all.

He nodded, hard, his voice still refusing to cooperate.

Aziraphale positively beamed. He let go of Crowley’s hand but only so that he could carefully take the miracled ring out. Then he recaptured the hand, holding it so he could gently slide the ring onto the appropriate finger.

It looked...like it belonged. Like it had always been there and always should. Crowley looked up from his hand and took a deep breath.

He could do this.

With hands trembling more than slightly, he took the other ring from the box - which Aziraphale had somehow managed to hold onto despite putting the ring on Crowley - and took the plumper hand in his.

It had felt quite important, one might even say monumental, to have the ring put on him. However, it paled in comparison with the feeling he had when he slid the ring onto the angel’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Aziraphale whispered, his smile bright enough to light up the entire country, if not the world.

That proved too much for the poor demon; grabbing both of the angel’s hands tightly in his, he hauled him upright with ease and pressed their lips together.

Normally, their kisses were tender, soft and sweet, or they had been up until now. Mostly, at least. This...was still tender, achingly so, but it also contained so much more. Love and yearning, pining and passion poured out of him as the kissed the other. It turned open mouthed almost by accident but as one or both of them groaned softly and dove further in, it didn’t matter.

Aziraphale was holding onto the bonier hands as though they were his tether and managed to meet Crowley beat by beat, emotion for emotion. Which was everything that it should be.

Inside Crowley’s mind that same pool of emotions swirled around and around, somehow managing to amplify, while a voice echoed around the walls, whispering ‘wedded’ over and over again. Then it was joined by the word ‘husband’, which hardly helped matters. Well, it did but it didn’t.

_Husband_.

* * *

If asked, he wouldn’t have been able to say how exactly they made it to the bedroom they had set up in the bookshop when Crowley had moved in after That Saturday.

It was upstairs, littered with even more books and held the most comfortable bed Crowley could think of.

And right now, it held an angel on his back, arms splayed out as he looked up at the demon above him, his eyes showing surprise, too, presumably at being there suddenly.

But it didn’t matter how they had made it. What mattered was that they were there, together.

They had touched before, of course, with and even without clothes - though that had actually only been the torsos - but as Crowley slid his fingers down to undo the worn buttons of the waistcoat, it felt as though he had never touched him before at all.

Aziraphale didn’t move, just watched in warm, patient silence as his waistcoat and then his shirt was opened, baring his stomach and chest.

Long fingers touched the skin carefully, almost reverentially, sliding them up slowly from the lower belly, around the navel and further up to the chest, brushing tenderly across lovely nipples, rosy against the skin. A shiver ran through the angel at that. Seeing that, it was hard to resist the urge to do it again and so he didn’t, which elicited another shiver.

Crowley then moved his hands across the shoulders, pushing at fabric as he went until it bunched around Aziraphale’s elbows. The angel lifted his arms to assist and waistcoat, shirt and jacket were slipped off him all in one go. The fob chain jingled minutely but somehow clung onto the waistcoat as all three items landed on the floor somewhere.

Crowley took a moment to sit back - he was kneeling on the bed with Aziraphale’s legs on either side - and just appreciate what was in front of him, still scarcely believing that this was real and this was his.

The blond, for his part, let him look his fill, though to be honest, that fill wouldn’t ever be, well, filled, without an attempt to cover up.

There was no need to but the fact that he didn’t _feel_ the need to, either, that made all the difference.

Honestly, to see how Aziraphale had been treated by the other angels, not to mention being told of some of the other comments they’d made, made something fiercer than Hellfire burn inside the demon whenever he thought of it. His angel was perfect just the way he was.

Still keeping eye contact, the redhead began to slide off his own jacket and then the rest of the clothes on his upper body, with much more efficiency than he had with Aziraphale’s.

At least, so he began, until he heard the blond whisper ‘slow, please’. Then he slowed down, taking the items off one by one rather than slipping all of them off at once, feeling the weight of a gaze on him. It was all he could do not to shiver minutely himself.

Once the t-shirt had gone over his head, he met that gaze, the warmth in there somehow even stronger. The demon swallowed at that, then, to distract himself, he turned his focus down to Aziraphale’s trousers.

A brief thought about why the heaven he couldn’t have modern trousers, with their convenient zippers, but at least it wasn’t the early Victorian fastenings flitted through his mind. He undid the top button...

Then, seemingly out of the blue, he hesitated.

“Is...is this alright?” Crowley asked, spreading a hand out to include them both and what they were doing, suddenly needing to know. Words spoken a little over 50 years ago, metaphorically a blink of an eye for them, rang in his mind and keened in his heart.

Was this too sudden? Too fast? Too soon? What if was? What -

The legs on either side of him lifted to wrap around hips, pulling at him and somehow managing to unbalance him. He fell forward, just about catching himself on his elbows above Aziraphale’s shoulders. The rest of his body was now against the one beneath it.

He looked up in shock at the other and saw that not only was there an apologetic smile, the warmth still in his eyes had an edge of what could only be termed lust.

It was so much more tender than Crowley had ever seen lust before, to the point that calling it ‘lust’ felt almost wrong, but then again, this was an angel, not a human.

For him. Aziraphale was...for him! And he was showing it openly.

Hands came up to rest against both sides of his face.

“More than alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “Perfectly - “

“I swear, if you’re going to say ‘tickety-boo’, I will - “ Crowley interrupted but was distracted himself when one of the legs still wrapped around him slid a little and pushed at his arse, which in turn slid them further together.

Angels, and demons by extension, were sexless unless they made the effort, and Aziraphale had...made the effort, as it were.

So had Crowley, admittedly, but that was...he always did! Even if he didn’t see the need to exclusively stick with one sex all the time.

To have _Aziraphale_ make the effort, however, that was...head-spinning, in the absolutely best way possible.

“That’s cheating,” he nevertheless hissed.

“But of course,” Aziraphale replied, with just the suggestion of a smirk. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Well, yes, it had, Crowley had to grudgingly admit. And then he couldn’t help but grin.

Oh, his angel.

He could reach a hand down and undo their trousers. But that would mean he would have to shift and he really didn’t want to do that right now. Nor did he want to get up properly to get them off himself and Aziraphale. So instead, still grinning, he snapped his fingers.

“Crowley!”

“Hmm?” he asked, looking innocent.

As innocent as he could, at least, what with a broad smile that threatened to become another grin plastered on his face.

“I’ve been keeping those trousers for a century and a half, you can’t just - “

The demon kissed him, briefly.

“Relax. They’re on the chair, perfectly okay, neatly folded.” He let his weight fall a little more onto the body underneath him, pressing them together. “And you can’t really say it doesn’t have some benefits.”

“That’s hardly the - ah!”

Soft hands fell from his face to grip onto his shoulders.

The grin returned. He rolled his hips forward, slowly and deliberately, feeling the hardness against the V between his hip and his groin. It earned him another gasp, louder than before.

He’d meant to be in control, to show his angel just what it could be like.

Then Aziraphale, still gripping onto the demon’s shoulders, shifted a little and brought their erections into full contact and it was him who let out sound, a gasping moan that was quite loud and uncontrolled.

The embarrassment was mollified by the fact that he heard Aziraphale make a similar noise.

Crowley felt a hand on his cheek and opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed, to look into soft green eyes.

“Please, my dear,” the angel said, “would you teach me?”

Something lodged inside Crowley at that, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it bloomed.

It wasn’t lessened by the fact that the hand was the one that had a new adornment.

“Of course,” he said, and he managed to say it without stuttering or blushing too badly.

He shifted himself for a better position and rocked his hips forward again, making sure it was slow but pushed against the other length in just the right way.

He got an outright moan for his trouble, which rose in volume again just as it started to taper off when he thrust again.

He could go faster and harder. He could snake a hand down between them, bring them together and get them both to climax like that. He could even slither down and show Aziraphale what worship could also be.

But he didn’t do any of those.

Because he didn’t _want_ to. He wanted it to be like this, tender and warm and unhurried. It gave him the opportunity to drink in all the little sounds the angel was making, the way his expression changed slightly. The way he was holding on him and the way he felt underneath him.

It felt _right_ that their first time being physical like this would be something to savour. Besides, they had all the time in the world, didn’t they? Both for this and for everything else.

Aziraphale had leaned forward and up a little and now caught Crowley’s lips in a kiss, which was passion and adoration and love.

On the next thrust he met him. Perfectly. And again on the next, drawing a deep felt groan from the demon.

There was no awkward moment of trying to find the right rhythm together, no fumbling with sliding too far or too hard. No friction beyond what was pleasurable. Well, not much, anyway.

For all that they had stumbled through the millennia as well as their relationship, they had also spent so much time together that in their own way, they had become part of a whole, two halves in sync, which matched and complimented each other perfectly.

Still kissing, Crowley’s fingers tangled themselves in blond hair while the other hand moved to cup a soft cheek. One of Aziraphale’s hands had meanwhile drifted itself and kept tracing patterns on the demon’s back. Touching in as many ways as possible, because they could.

Crowley, with his greater experience, felt it when Aziraphale began to tense up in a rather telling way. He didn’t speed up or even slow down, though, content to keep it at the same pace until the angel climaxed.

He did pull away from the kiss, though, mostly so he could focus on the other’s face.  
“Crowley, I’m...I think I’m...”

The ginger brushed his hand very gently over a forehead beaded with sweat.

“It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He couldn’t help the besotted smile he just knew was plastered on his face.

Aziraphale tensed further before he jerked and then shuddered hard as he ejaculated, the warm liquid spilling between them.

The demon would have expected him to shout or something similar. Instead, though, what he did was a cross between a throaty moan and a whisper. A whisper of Crowley’s name, which made it sound like, of all things, a benediction.

It was that sound, along with the expression of surprised bliss on that familiar face, that pushed Crowley over the edge a few moments later, to his own surprise.

He felt his own ejaculate join the mess already between them but his main focus was split between the orgasm itself and the fact that the moment it started, he was kissed, Aziraphale’s mouth swallowing any noise he made.

When everything settled into a semblance of something comprehensible after a small eon, he opened eyes he didn’t know he’d closed, to look down at Aziraphale who positively glowed.

No, actually, he did, and for a moment Crowley was worried he’d accidentally slipped into a more ethereal form. But no, the body beneath his still felt solid and real - and alive. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“I love you,” he said, starting to snuggle down.

Aziraphale beamed. “I love you, too, my dearest..._husband_.”

Crowley gasped softly, his head snapping up. The feeling such a simple word could bring.

He met the warm, loving gaze with his own.

“Yes,” he agreed, lacing their fingers together, their rings against each other. It might be traditional for the rings to be worn on the same hand for both but this way, they would touch when they did, which felt far more right.

“_My_ husband.”

* * *

“Do we need a ceremony?” Crowley asked some time later. They were still lying in bed but it was under the covers, at least.

“I...suppose not, no. After all, we do rank higher than a priest.”

There was a sense of disappointment to be found in the angel’s voice, nevertheless.

“You do. I certainly don’t.” Nope, not going there right now. “But anyway, I don’t think it’s a good idea to...make it easy for them.”

“What do you - oh.”

“Yeah.”

Going into a church to get Aziraphale out in one piece and dealing with Nazis was one thing. Going into a church, a house of God, to have his romantic bond with one of God’s servants officiated, as it were, when they had royally pissed off Heaven was another one entirely - and probably not the smartest of ideas, to put it mildly.

Yes, they had managed to get both sides off their backs and quite effectively so, if he did say so, but even so...that was a bit too much like tying yourself to the lightning pole in a thunderstorm.

“Yes. Of course.” Still that undercurrent of understanding disappointment.

Crowley, who wasn’t having that - quite apart from wanting something to celebrate himself, among other reasons because he liked the thought of having a wedding anniversary quite a lot - pulled at the warm, soft, naked body beside him until he had a blanket made of angel over him.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t still have a reception or even a ceremony, if that’s what you’d like.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up at that and he kissed the ginger. _He’s determined to discorporate me, isn’t he?_

“With a cake?” the angel asked when they pulled apart.

Crowley touched their noses together, practically beaming himself.

“Of course. Anything you’d like, angel. Anything at all.”

Anything for his angel.

**Author's Note:**

> This got quite a lot longer than was my original intention but that's really nothing new for me and I can't say I mind, even though I've probably messed up. I kept the sex scene as sweet as I could make it on purpose. I like writing sweet with these two. If your headcanon says something different than this, that's perfect, but that doesn't negate this. :)  
I feel like I meant to comment on something else but I've forgotten.  
Feedback is as always beyond welcome if you'd be kind enough to keep the criticism constructive.


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